


Little By Little

by Lokislittlearmy



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Healing, Nightmares, Not Beta Read, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 03:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19455631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokislittlearmy/pseuds/Lokislittlearmy
Summary: Because he trusts what’s real, around him, as long as he can feel it. It’s just that Spidey sense doesn’t help everything.Peter has to heal again.





	Little By Little

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers for Far From Home. Literally got home from seeing it and opened a fresh document. Read at your own discretion.  
> Also, this fic ignores the first credits scene.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?”

Peter breaks down crying.

Because here’s the thing: Peter already had nightmares before the trip. Nightmares about disappearing again for five years, and about Mr. Stark dying, and everything around him turning into dust, and all of those combined. He can’t count the nights he’s woken up screaming, May rushing in to calm him down.

It took him so long just to not break down sobbing every time he saw a tribute to Mr. Stark. Or every time someone gave Spiderman their condolences. He learned too fast that the suit eyes were not waterproof.

Morgan took a liking to him, and she was too young to understand why he and Pepper danced around so much conversation. She just wanted Peter around, because he was nice and quiet and took her swinging around the city one time. He gave her his old Legos.

When he took off for the trip, he was at least healing. He was finding normalcy. He could pass a memorial and manage with a somber smile. He only woke up from nightmares once or twice a week.

Shit always hits the fan. He was lured in, pegged for the naïve little boy he was, and boy did he pay the price.

There are days now where Peter doesn’t believe a thing around him. He puts on his glasses and doesn’t take them off, and sometimes even that isn’t enough. He reaches out to objects just to confirm that they’re there, hugs his friends out of the blue, fidgets with his zipper all the time.

His Spidey sense helps sometimes, but it doesn’t help as much when he’s stuck hyperventilating. And others notice it, too. MJ watches somebody pass behind Peter, and it’s like the boy just got a spear in his back. 

“It’s, uh, kind of like if you wore glasses your whole life, and then one day you just got 20/20 vision.” He scratches his arm as he explains. “I just feel a lot more now.”

He does. He feels so much. Because he trusts what’s real, around him, as long as he can feel it. MJ doesn’t have the same silhouette as the guy that pointed a gun at his head. There aren't drones around, and he knows if someone is coming up behind him. It’s just that Spidey sense doesn’t help everything.

Peter has woken up from a nightmare every night this past week, and he doesn’t go back to sleep. He’s at least stopped screaming—nobody will help in the dream, after all. He trudges to the living room and puts on stupid cartoons until May wakes up, and he naps for an hour at a time.

The night before he’s set to meet with Nick Fury, it’s a combined nightmare. He’s thrown around for a bit, an ever-shifting landscape around him. He grabs onto a railing that dissolves before his eyes, crumbling away as he feels his limbs grow fuzzy.

He falls on his back. The wind rushes out of him. He can’t see. It’s too bright. He can’t open his eyes past the suit, the comfiest one he had, the cotton of his hoodie brushing across his arms. He feels someone beside him, knows they’re offering their hand, and he forces his eyes open to see-

Mr. Stark. He smiles with a telltale little twinkle in his eyes. “Hey, kiddo. Long time no see.”

Peter hesitantly takes his hand. He already knows this is a dream. It’s an illusion that might let him wake up peacefully, or might rip everything away first. It’s a coin flip, and he takes it. He lets Mr. Stark pull him up and into a hug. It’s tight, like on the battlefield. Five years. He remembers finding out it really had been five years, and that Mr. Stark wanted him back the whole time. Pepper even showed Peter the picture that was over the sink, now hung on the wall like a family portrait.

“I miss you,” Peter whispers. His vision blurs, and he tightens his grip.

“You’ll be okay,” Mr. Stark whispers back, voice tight. And then Peter feels the pain crawling up his spine. He pries himself away and reaches back to pull the knife out of his back. The handle is there, he knows it, so why does his hand keep fading through it? It's burning a hole in his skin.

He looks up to Mr. Stark, maybe to ask for help, but he’s not there anymore. It’s just the vast expanse of the void and green smoke crawling across the floor. 

At this point, Peter is no stranger to pain. So he feels it tenfold when he collapses to his hands and knees. It's burning, it's eating him from inside out. “Let me wake up,” he begs. Nobody’s listening. Nobody but the void and maybe...Mysterio. Maybe Mysterio was listening to his pleas. He'd prefer nobody. “Please, I-I’m ready to wake up!” 

He does. His sheets are sweat-soaked. The only light in his room comes from the Iron suit charging in the corner. May isn't in yet, so he must not have been screaming. At least he didn't wake her. He spends a minute crying, closing his eyes and feeling everything in the room, before he rolls out. He brings the blanket he threw on the floor, and curls up on the couch.

The concealer he dabs under his eyes is apparently not enough, because Nick Fury’s first words when he walks in are, “Holy shit, what happened to you?”

And, well…you know.

It all pours out like a broken dam. Peter sobs about the nightmares, the distrust, how he needs to feel everything to know it’s real. He hasn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in so damn long. Throughout his entire speech, Nick Fury’s expression grows softer and softer. Until it’s not an expression Peter really recognizes. It's too soft, and guilt flashes across his eye.

Peter hiccups and wipes tears on frayed hoodie sleeves. “You’re not you, either. Are you?”

“I haven’t been, if it makes you feel better.” He lets his guard down to show who he really is. “My name is Talos. I work with Captain Marvel. Nick Fury is taking a…long and well-deserved vacation at her behest.”

Peter sniffles. He reaches out and touches Talos’ face. He’s real, alright. And really alien. “What…what are you?”

Talos doesn't move. He lets Peter process.“I’m a Skrull. We’re a species of shapeshifters. Captain Marvel saved our species a few decades ago. When she asked Nick Fury to take a break, she asked for our help in making that happen.” He watches Peter carefully, like he’s about to break.

He certainly feels like it, as he takes in Talos’ reptilian features and traces cold scales with calloused fingers. Nick Fury was a new person, too. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that he had a façade, too. He listens to the story Talos tells him, and he takes it at face value.

Later, he’ll look up news clippings and find everything that he can that lines up, and ask the Avengers he can if they can back up Talos’ story. And later, Bucky will send him files that back up everything with Carol Danvers. Originals that can be traced back to official archives.

“I get it, trying to ground yourself and making sure everything is real,” Bucky will say over the phone, with a fervent debate going on in the background. “I think it’s something a lot of us are dealing with. Stay safe, alright?” 

“I will. Thank you, Mr. Barnes.”

“Bucky’s fine.” 

Right now, Peter just needs to believe. He soaks in every word. It’s almost a relief to know he hasn’t met the real Nick Fury. Maybe he’ll feel like less of a disaster by the time he does.

“The glasses,” Peter starts.

“Those are from Tony Stark, as I said. He believed in you wholeheartedly.” Talos pauses. “I don’t think he took every eventuality into account. He must have thought you’d be older, have more time. It’s okay to take your time, especially with what you’ve had to deal with. To show weakness is to be alive.”

Peter feels tears spring back to his eyes. “I don’t want to be weak. I have responsibilities to take care of now.”

“You’re not alone in taking on those responsibilities, Peter. You’ve got us, and Tony Stark’s family, and your own. Your friends. There are people in this world that you can trust. Even if they don’t completely understand your plight, they’ll try their best.”

Talos suggests a therapist. Peter takes his recommendation.

He wants to say things get better after that. They do, to a degree. He comes up with secret handshakes. MJ’s is the longest. They start talking about their day while they go through the motions. It takes Happy a few tries to figure his out, but he’s willing to try.

Happy remembers how torn and beaten down Peter was in the tulip field. The frenzied look in his eyes as he limped away, screaming to wait. He’s willing to help however he can.

Talos’ is one-handed. It looks like a fumbled handshake from a distance, but the moves are too practiced to anybody looking closely. Pinkies hooking for a split second, fingertips touching first. It's precise. Peter fumbles it more than Talos does.

The nightmares cut back. Peter falls asleep on the couch and wakes up to morning cartoons. He makes his appointments most of the time. He takes the day off when sessions are too heavy, and spends the day swinging around town. The air clears his head. He stares over the city skyline and watches the sun set, and engraves it into his memory. He asks Edith if she can help him through panic attacks or times where he doesn't feel real.

"Of course. Do you need help right now?"

Peter leans back on the slanted roof he's landed on. A smile touches his face as he watches the sky shift color. "No, not right now. I'm okay."

It’s slower than he wants, but he’s healing. Little by little.

**Author's Note:**

> I might make this more than one chapter, but I'm not sure yet. It stands on its own anyway. Let me know if you wanna see more? I have a lot of ideas.  
> My tumblr is littlelionkai, come yell.


End file.
